


Yes, Sir, That's My Baby!

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-15 10:38:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14788946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Major Kevin Richards, admittedly, wasn't thinking too clearly.  Well, who could blame him?  Over and over again he'd warned them.  Over and over again they'd ignored him, brushed aside his concerns for their welfare.  Now, of all the ways for him to be proven right, this one angered him the most.  And to be leaving him to clean up the inevitable fallout?  That was unforgiveable!  It might be a little late to PREVENT the inevitable fallout, but by damned, he wasn't just going to sit around and do nothing.  It was time to take off the white gloves!





	Yes, Sir, That's My Baby!

It'd been awhile since the Ice Queen had walked the halls of HQ, and the news that she was back, had been seen in the area that housed the Special Forces Handlers, well, that would have noticed, possibly mentioned by a few, there being nothing of particular interest in the gossip chain that week other than the unspeakable abomination that had been served for lunch yesterday; those who'd been brave enough to eat it didn't have the strength today to even enter into the betting of what in hell it really had been! The sign had said Specialiti Du Jur, which told them nothing about the food, but maybe something about the chef. While it had appeared on the surface to bear a resemblance to bubble and squeak, the dispensary clerk had been heard saying "it shoulda just been called 'Bubble, Bubble, Toil and Trouble', or maybe 'Chef's Revenge'; woulda gotten the message across a hell of a lot better".The chef was supposedly hunting the dispensary clerk with a meat cleaver, but that was probably just hyperbole; with all the rationing and the scarcity of meat, what would the chef have been doing with a meat cleaver in the first place? 

But the Ice Queen being back? That was apparently true, given the number of people who swore they saw her. Word that she was dressed not in her usual sturdy and snug trousers, shirt and jacket, but in a long full skirt and shirtwaist top, her hair done rather loose and casual, much different than her usual tight ready-for-battle braided and coiled style they were accustomed to seeing her in, that made a topic for only a few, at least at the time, though the topic was brought up again later, to be sure.

The news that she'd come in with two infant carriers, both complete with tiny occupants, and a tote over her shoulder, well, that got everyone's attention in a hurry. The news that she'd had gone straight in, having no hesitation at all, stopping only to have a brief quiet conversation with a couple of people who had approached her in the hall, headed on quickly to have a few stern, determined words with the man at the desk, after which that locked door was hurriedly unlocked, and then she just LEFT, leaving both the carriers and the tote in the office of one Major Kevin Richards, with an envelope addressed to him in the shaking hand of his temporary Aide, before she rapidly departed? Well, that little tidbit made the rounds like greased lightning. 

Major Richards had been in a meeting, then had been intending to be on his way to meet with one of the teams at their home base; he was stopped on his way out by a wide-eyed secretary with an urgent message from his frantic Aide who was standing inside that door, starting at that ticking bomb, wondering just what the heck he was supposed to do about this little development. It certainly wasn't anything his brief training had prepared him for.

Private Christman was almost fifty, had been called up for duty late, only after the rolls had been expanded to include the older men, and having worked all his adult life in a bank, specifically in the balancing of accounts section, ended up in a position that called for precise organizational skills and the ability to follow orders to the letter, along with the talent for counting a stack of paperclips three times and coming up with the same number at least twice; that the position also frequently calling for quick thinking and sound judgement, neither of which were his strong points, well, that was par for the course; after all, no candidate was perfect for a job, concessions had to be made.

Christman was the latest in a long list of Special Forces Aides, and sadly, not the worst of the lot. The turnover was really quite remarkable, along with discouraging. At this point, Personnel just attached little clip-on bars saying "Special Forces" to the top of their name tag, and another to the bottom that read "Temporary". Much less expensive that way. Most never stuck around long enough to get the 'Temporary' designation removed from their name tag without getting the 'Special Forces' bar removed at the same time.

At least, he'd been on the job a full month now, which was longer than a couple had lasted. Whether that was because he was starting to fit in, or because his new commanding officer was just getting weary of the whole process, or because Personnel was getting annoyed with having to keep coming up with new candidates, who knows.

Some of the Handlers had discussed, after the last debacle, when Christman had arrived to take the place of the one taken away in chains, whether it could be that "this might just be as good as they get, Kevin, God help us! Might as well stop trying for better! At least he won't be as bad as McDaniels; no one's ever going to let us live that one down - kidnapping, assault and battery, attempted murder, espionage - hell, he bugged your office along with a couple of others! If he and his crew hadn't tried to rope the O'Donnell woman into it, along with one of Garrison's men, who knows how long it would have gone on??! Sitting right outside your office!" That had inspired a glum pouring out of another round of bad whiskey. 

"Christman, just what the hell were you going on about? I was just headed out; my driver is waiting. I rather doubt anything is that urgent . . ." to stop and stare at what was now adorning his desk. Not a bundle of explosives with a burning fuse - two quite different explosive bundles. Two solemn sets of eyes met his, one set very pale, though whether blue or grey would have confounded anyone to say, that often being the case with the very, very young; the other set hazel with the faintest of grey mixed in. Kevin Richards stood, stunned, his mouth working as if trying to speak, but nothing coming out, his mind refusing to process this. He looked at Private Christman, without a word demanding an explanation.

"She came in about half an hour ago with . . ." the rather hapless conscript motioned vaguely toward the two infants. "She said you'd understand."

He gulped manfully as he met his commanding officer's silver grey eyes, the eyes that were telling him that he bloody well did NOT understand, and that Christman had better amend that situation pretty damned fast! "That, she was sorry but that you'd understand. That she had no other choice; that she'd be gone right quickly now so couldn't care for them herself. That she knew she could trust you to do the right thing."

"WHO, Christman, you imbecile? WHO left them here?" and Christman's eyes got even bigger.

{"Always seemed so on the up and up, or so everyone says, but he doesn't know WHO?? Can't even narrow it down?? Lordy! Had everybody fooled, he did!"}.

"She didn't give a name, sir; figured you'd KNOW, I suppose," giving Richards a rather old-fashioned look for a Private facing a Major, but then, Christman wasn't career military, of course. Richards decided to ignore it in favor of dealing with more important things first.

"WHO??!"

"Red hair, fair skin, medium height. Seemed to know her way around; real determined way about her. I could go ask; she'd had to have signed the register."

Richards sighed heavily, looking at those infants again, particularly the one with the dark red curls, {"they just keep getting younger and younger, and every one of them seeming intent on driving me stark raving mad!"}.

Richards snapped at his trembling Aide, "and she said nothing more? No other message?" and with a start Christman remembered the envelope and fetched it from his desk.

"Oh, yes, she left this, she did," getting a glare from Richards in return. Christman got just a bit of a pout to his thin lips.

{"Don't know what he's upset with ME about; I didn't leave two of his by-blows on his desk! Don't have anyone leaving any such on MY desk either!"} he thought a bit self-righteously. 

Richards sat at his desk, carefully repositioning the babe with red curls and hazel eyes slightly to give him room, also perhaps trying to redirect that far too appraising, more than a little judgemental look. The other one, slightly smaller, more delicately proportioned, the one with soft curling strands of soft very pale blond hair and pale eyes, seemed to watch his every move as well, though those eyes seemed to wander off toward the shimmer of that silver letter opener before moving back to watch Richards' face. Richards looked at both of them again, studying them, then shook his head as if coming in out of the rain.

He slit open the envelope, read the brief note to him, saw the other two envelopes enclosed, his mouth tightening harshly as he noted the names on the front of those envelopes. He read his note again, and snapped, "call my driver. Tell him to pick me up in ten minutes at the side entrance. Then, come back here and give me a hand!"

Richards took the time to make one terse phone call, "I'll be there as soon as the road conditions allow. BE THERE, you and your team!"

On the other end, the officer hung up the phone with a thoughtful look, {"no 'hello', no 'goodbye', no pleasantries."}

He gave a little sigh, wondering just what the hell it was this time, but went back to the reports he was wading through, shifting uncomfortably in the hard chair; his pride had kept him from getting a soft cushion to sit on, but he was rethinking the wisdom of that now. 

Five minutes later, HQ was sent over the edge of shock at the sight of a rapidly departing, flushed-cheek, tight lipped Major Kevin Richards, an infant in a carrier in one hand, followed by his scurrying Aide laden down with a second baby carrier and a bulging shoulder strap bag along with the major's briefcase.

After helping the Major get everything settled in the car, along with the driver's help, Private Christman made his way back toward his office; it would take him a very long time to get there, what with all the questions everyone was asking, and him having to tell his story so many times. It was to his credit that it didn't get expanded too terribly much in the telling, adding only perhaps a little more angst on the part of the woman, a little more anger on the part of the Major. Well, there was that little bit about 'the look in those poor babes eyes, when she left, knowing they'd never see their mother again; like to break your heart'; and 'the worry when the Major was looking at them so harsh like - even so young, they knew there was trouble coming, they did'! And 'her face, tragic it was!'

As far as Private Christman was concerned, he'd kept things spot on accurate, and was pleased with himself for being so professional in doing so! That he'd never considered himself a romantic, well that was a bit of self-denial that would stick with him to his ending days. He'd have argued, if pressed, that his long-time subscription to True Confessions magazine did not prove anything of that sort, nor his complete collections of the books by E M Hull, Jane Austen, and Mary Shelley, plus several individual copies of other like authors.

Well, his telling his 'accurate, professional' version, remembering additional little details with each re-telling of course, that didn't keep the listeners from doing a little expanding of their own, and by the time it passed from one to another to another, and finally hit against the back wall of HQ and started the inevitable bouncing back, well, it was a rather remarkable tale with all the aspects of the most lurid melodrama. The little groups of people, breaking apart then reforming with new members, the little fragments of the conversations, all pointed to a very interesting time for the Major when he returned. 

"Well, I never!"

"Poor little tikes! What's to become of them?"

"Shouldn't be allowed, that's what I say!"

"No mistaking them, not once you've seen them; his eyes for sure on the one, his chin on the other!"

"Still waters, you know what they say!"

"Always prosing on, all blue-mouthed, he is. Just goes to show!"

"He'll try to brush it all under the rug, of course; but too many people know now. He'll not get away with that!"

"Oh, that poor girl! Tried so hard she did to do her duty and keep the men at arms length in doing it, but with him being the one in charge, well, of course, not like she'd have been given a choice."

<>p>"Just walked out of here with those babes, and right furious he was; who knows where they'll end up, poor souls."

Oh, there was one who ran a different line, of course. "Prim and proper miss, oh yes, that's for sure, all the time spreading it out for him all along," that last said with a snarl of rather self-satisfied contempt by one of the men who'd made several unsuccessful attempts at socialization with the Ice Queen. He was quickly shouted down by those busy picturing her the betrayed and abandoned waif, wailing bundles in her arms, trudging through the snow after being cast out by her family, and turned away in her plight by the man who'd brought her to such ruin - all straight from a bad silent film that had been showing in the recreation hall last week. A film laughed at mightily by one and all, at the time, but which now sent poignant twinges through many a heart.

By the time it headed on its third round, supposedly the Powers That Be were ordering a crew to drag the river for the girl's body 'since she's cast herself off that bridge, you know, after leaving the wee tikes with the one responsible, blast his black heart!', and 'the Brass has men out looking for the Major, to make him turn over those wee things before something dreadful happens!' And there were more than a few, "Bloody Officers!" snarled under the breath that both confused and rather alarmed more than one of that ilk as they passed in the hallways. Both the woman dropping off those babies, and the man now in possession of them would have been appalled beyond belief at the stories, the implications, and only the woman would have had the wherewithall to recognize the humor in the melodramatic absurdity of it all. After all, when she was co-opted on the spur of the moment like that, wasn't like she could take two babies with her on a mission; and if she'd had to leave the babes with anyone, who else would do better than the upright, solidly responsible, even tiresomely conservative Kevin Richards, old family friend?? Wasn't like she could have told Ainsley, "go on, head off to Norway; I'll take these two home and catch the next submarine going in that direction." 

Of course, even if Richards had ordered Christman to keep his mouth shut, it wouldn't have helped all that much; too many people had seen the Ice Queen's arrival and departure, and now the Major's departure. Now part of that at least had a reasonable explanation. Ciena and Meghada, the Dragon, the Ice Queen, were sisters, only two years apart, and looked enough like each other to pass without question to all but family, as did most of the females in the Clan. And Ciena rarely came into HQ, usually working out of the Annex. Most here wouldn't have ever seen her, or if they had, known the difference; might not even have been aware of her existence. 

Once in the car, Richards' stunned driver forgot himself so much as to turn and stare over the car seat only to turn around quickly at that well-known glare; he could have sworn all three sets of eyes had that same well-known glare, actually, though he, at least, had the sense never to voice that thought out loud.

The Major opened that note and read it yet again, starting to seethe inside now that the shock had somewhat dissipated. He KNEW something like this was going to happen. Well, no, he admitted, he hadn't, but it was one of the many things he'd been afraid MIGHT happen, though he'd thought, hoped her to be too savvy, too responsible to actually let things get this far out of hand. Of course, it was too much to ask to expect responsible behavior out of HIM, despite all those mandatory lectures about such things. He frowned heavily, {"well, I suppose Garrison has given those lectures; surely he has. Well, he bears a great deal of responsibility in this anyway, whether he did or not! He's supposed to have some control over those men!"} ignoring just how much or how little control he himself had over those he commanded, in particular ignoring the McDaniels fiasco.

He just couldn't believe it now, or that he, of all people, had been co-opted to deal with the situation, after the pains he'd gone through to prevent any such situation from occurring in the first place, all those stern talkings-to, the lectures and pleadings. He read it again, as if that would somehow change the content.

"Kevin, sorry, but I got tapped last minute, emergency mission. Had these two loves in my care for the day, but no time to return them to their mother. Can you deliver them to the Cottage, or if she isn't there, to the Mansion on your trip down? She'll know where to come looking. Thanks! Ciena. PS: Notes are enclosed; can you deliver to Lieutenant Garrison and Goniff? Bad luck all round, of course, but sometimes things just happen. OOPS! Hope it doesn't prove too inconvenient for everybody concerned! Don't let Garrison get too pissed, okay? Hardly anyone's fault, but you know how he gets. Thanks again, C".

He started to pull out his cigarettes, looked at those two stern sets of eyes watching him carefully, looked at the cigarettes, sighed and put them back in his pocket, nestled against those two notes he had been entrusted to deliver along with all else. He thought wistfully of the flask in his pocket, but didn't think that would meet with any greater approval from the rather judgmental pair sharing the seat with him.

"Pity that good judgement doesn't seem to last!" he voiced rather sternly, getting another fast glance in the rear view mirror.

There'd been no answer at the Cottage, so he'd scribbed a rather terse message and stuck it into the crack of the kitchen door.

"Your 'packages' are at the Mansion. I must remember to thank Ciena SO much for entrusting me with their safe delivery! Can't tell you how much I appreciate it! Rather a pity YOU didn't appreciate MY advice enough to listen to me in the first place." Then he directed his driver to take him to the Mansion. Once inside, leaving his dual burdens with a slack-jawed Sergeant Rawlins, he headed upstairs. The stunned Sergeant only had time to thumb the intercom while staring down at those four eyes staring back at him, and announce, "Major Richards on 'is way up, Lieutenant and . . ."

"Yes, Sergeant Major, he's just arrived. Thanks," Garrison replied as Richards threw open the door to the Common Room, glared around at the men gathered around the room, stalked over toward the left side of the fireplace where Goniff and Casino were bickering about something or other.

Garrison nodded courteously, stepping forward from where he was discussing the latest mess with Actor, "Major." Richards didn't even glance in his direction.

Goniff hopped down from his seat on the back of the armchair, with a welcoming grin on his face, "Ei, Major, long time . . ." and the stunned Englishman was then sprawled flat on the floor with the furious Richards standing over him with a clenched fist.

"Major, just what the hell??!" Garrison burst out, and the men were protesting loudly as well, hurrying to stand between. Goniff turned over to his side, shaking his head as if to see if anything inside rattled, felt his jaw with his right hand, quirking it from one side to the other making sure nothing was broken. The small pickpocket surged to his feet and headed toward the taller bulkier man. 

"W'at the ruddy 'ell was that for??!" he cursed.

"Goniff, stay back! Casino, keep him back there!"

"No, let him come on; I've been looking forward to this for the past two hours," Richards snarled, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his uniform, as well as his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves.

Actor wasn't the only one who was looking at him like he'd lost his mind. It was hardly like the very stiff officer to engage in fisticuffs with anyone, particularly one of the Special Forces men, most particularly one he had such a physical advantage over. And to strike without warning, that was unheard of for someone who prided himself on proper behavior. 

"Now that's just about enough!" Craig Garrison had had a rough morning, trying to sort out the details of the latest mission which had far too many moving parts for comfort, handling the debriefings to try and figure out what had gone so wrong on the last one; in addition, he'd come a cropper on the obstacle course showing the guys just how easy it was to handle that new piece of equipment the Sergeant Major had added to the routine, the one that mimicked that new German security device they'd come up against so unexpectedly and painfully. He hadn't been hurt, well, except in his pride and his arse, where he'd landed when his foot had slipped. The fact that it wasn't the first time that had happened, well that didn't make it any the less painful, and certainly no less embarrassing. All in all, he wasn't in the best frame of mind to handle something as unexpected as an obviously unhinged Major Kevin Richards. 

"Ahem" sounded from the doorway, and Sergeant Major Rawlins stuck his head in. "Major, just where did you want me to put . . ." and he paused at the tense and disheveled scene in front of him.

Richards snarled, "on the table, Sergeant Major. Might as well let everybody get a good look, don't you think??"

"Ah, yes sir," the awkward non-com responded, stooping to pick up something from the floor and walked in to deposit the two carry-all's, complete with contents, onto the table top. He sat the tote on the floor beside the table, and scurried back closer to the doorway to where he'd be available if called upon, where he could see and hear everything going on, but could retreat rapidly if wisdom suggested that the better course. 

The men stood shock still, looking at the table with its two new arrivals, then at each other, then at Richards in bewilderment. The Common Room table had seen some highly unusual things, but babies, now, that was something new.

The Major was still glaring at Goniff, and the pickpocket had now shifted his expression from anger at being struck, to confusion at the presence of those two babies sitting at their ease on the big round table, back to that very personal glare, back to the babies, then a gradual dawning, appalled understanding and fervent denial, complete with hands in front of him, palms out as if holding the officer at bay.

"Uh oh, no, Major, now you just 'old on a ruddy minute! If you're thinking w'at I think you're thinking, you just back off and think again. Don't know who you've been talking to, but I'm telling you flat out . . "

His voice was starting to rise in pitch and volume, but was drowned out by the roar of anger from Richards about his disgraceful behavior and his unforgiveable denial of responsibility. The men were even more bewildered and shocked, looking from one of the shouting men to the other.

Richards turned to Garrison, looking away from the Cockney in disgust, one arm flung wide in frustration, "I told her, again and again, I tried to tell her, but she just wouldn't listen. Now, how did her sister phrase it, oh so elegantly too? Ah yes, now I remember!" And his voice changed into a bad mimicry of a female voice! "Bad luck all round but sometimes things just happen! OOPS! Hope it doesn't prove too inconvenient." Yes, well, that just says it all, doesn't it?? That's just bloody fine! One can be called 'OOPS', the other "UH OH"; that should work, right??" He was biting off each word as if it were the end of a new cigar, spitting them out each in turn.

A snort, accompanied by a background snicker, came from the doorway.

"Well, actually I'd decided on 'Veranes' and 'Trissta', but I'll have to keep your suggestions in mind for the next ones. Quite distinctive, I have to say!"

The men turned to see two women, both redheads, one slightly older than the other, in the doorway, one in a long slightly loose-fitting dress, the other in trousers and tucked in shirt.

Goniff exclaimed, hand pressed to his face, striding forward and addressing the one in trousers, gesturing back toward the angry British officer. "'Gaida, you'll never believe it! 'It me, 'e did, without even a word! Got some bee in 'is bonnet, bout them two being mine! You know better, luv; I'd never, not with anyone else! Well, not recent-like, anyway, and even then not without . . .!" The sudden flush as he finally heard what he was saying right out in front of everyone, including one of his 'Gaida's female relatives, was bright pink, not his best color, but understandable under the circumstances. 

Meghada shook her head in rueful amusement, walked up to her Englishman and moved his hand away, tilted his face to survey the damage, wincing slightly, "got you good, too, he did. Best we get some ice on that right soon! And," taking a long exasperated look at the now obviously rapidly-rethinking officer, "from the note you left me, Kevin, it wasn't Goniff playing around elsewhere you were imagining, little OOPS and UH OH being the results, now was it?"

The deep flush on Richards' face told them that was exactly the case, and the dawning understanding on Goniff's and the others was almost amusing.

She sighed with disbelief, "Kevin, you and I, we had lunch together less than two months ago! These loves are all of six weeks! Really??! If anyone had told me I could carry twin babes up to delivery and not even show enough to tell, well, I'd have been more than a little surprised! I rather doubt that's the case, though; Gena was getting worried about passing through doorways! Idiot!"

Goniff's eyes were huge, "but 'Gaida, you didn't, you weren't never. We'd 'ave. . ." only to stop, his head finally clearing enough after that blow and the shock of that accusation to start thinking again, realizing she was the ONE person he didn't have to convince, a slow sheepish grin coming to his face at the thought of what he'd almost blurted out. She knew though, bless him.

"Aye, love, I'm pretty sure I'd have noticed, somewhere along the line, and you too, most likely!" chuckling at him.

Gena, the other woman, obviously Clan, chided Richards, "carried them long enough, Major, not to mention the bearing of them, for you to go giving my babes away! And I'm quite sure my Veron wouldn't be any too pleased either. Right proud of these two, he is. Veranes has his hair, and his eyes to the very shade, Trissta even getting a hint in the eyes as well, which isn't all that common with us."

Richards was now a bright red, "but the note . . . ". He pulled it out and handed it to Meghada, who read it out loud and asked, "and you have notes for Lieutenant Garrison and Goniff as well? Notes that might explain what that 'OOPS, Bad Luck' is really all about?" He sheepishly drew out the notes and handed them over.

Craig Garrison read his and groaned, "Ciena says the arrangement with Clevers has gone belly-up, the intermediary washed up on the beach after an all-night bender went wrong; nothing suspicious, just rotten luck and poor judgement on his part."

Goniff read his and blushed slightly, "I'd asked Ciena to run a little errand; turns out she ran into you when she was there, 'Gaida, so you already know they was already sold out of what you'd fancy'd so much."

She grinned at him, "aye, laddie, I do; and a sweet thought, truly, but I'm sure we can come up with something else for the occasion."

Richards stood there, seeing all those reproachful eyes on him, even from those two babes, and knew he'd have a hard time living this one down. He wondered if he should offer the little pickpocket a free swing at him in recompense and decided he probably should.

Later, with the two women explaining that Ciena had been at the Cottage, had been enjoying watching the twins, and had gotten a call to make a quick run to London to pick up some translation work for her and Meghada. Gena had been with Doc Riley for a check-up, Meghada dealing with some of Doby's nonsense, and after a call to the clinic to get Gena's permission, Ciena had taken the babes with her, thinking to pick up the documents, introduce the twins to some of the London relatives and be back by late afternoon.

There hadn't been time to even summon any of the family, even the close ones, to take over the babies, since she'd been tapped on the shoulder in the halls of HQ almost as soon as she'd walked in, and had to leave with a team within minutes. She didn't want to involve any of the Friends and Family working in HQ; they and their positions were just too valuable to compromise if she could avoid it. Kevin Richards was the closest thing to family in the immediate vicinity, she knew he could be trusted, so she scribbled out the note, the other two already prepared, in her pocket, and ready to leave with Meghada to give to their intended recipients later, deposited the babies in his office, made a fast phone call to the clinic to inform Gena of the likely whereabouts of her children, and ran to grab a pack and leave with an impatient Alex Ainsley and his team outbound for Norway. 

Things got more friendly at the Mansion once the air was cleared, Goniff accepting the awkward apology, generously foregoing Kevin Richards' offer of a free and unchallenged blow, explaining "wouldn't want to 'urt you, Major; 'sides, me 'ands, they're valuable assets, you know, can't go mucking them up on that jaw of yours."

The babes were unbundled and fed and passed around, both spending some time in Goniff's arms along with everyone else's. Kevin took another sip of his drink, looking at the slender blond chattering away at the equally blond baby in his grasp, something about telling the difference between real and fake pearls, and even with the real, what was worth snaffling and what wasn't, and that baby listening with the appearance of understanding every word, maybe wanting to take notes, (and that thought made the officer squirm in apprehension, remembering how those eyes followed the silver of that letter opener).

Meghada, reading his mind easily, gave just a hint of a laugh, "relax, Kevin, you'll be retired, most like, long before he hits his stride, at least hopefully!"

Richards protested, not even wanting to think of any of that, "well, you have to admit, with the hair color, the eyes, it was understandable."

Meghada look another look at the babes, "well, perhaps, Kevin. But have you considered? Ciena left them in YOUR office, with YOUR Aide. And those pale blue-grey eyes, well, not too different from silver-grey. Best be prepared to deal with the gossip chain when you get back."

His eyes were appalled as the realization sat in, and the cat calls and ribbing from the guys didn't help.

"Yeah, Major, you devil you!"

"Now, could be I see just a 'int of resemblance around the chin, whata you think, Chiefy?"

Richards groaned and reached for the bottle to top up his glass, "I think I'm going to be getting a phone call from Colonel Redley before the week is out! And with him just giving that lecture about the importance of officers keeping to the straight and narrow as a moral example to those we lead," and the room broke out in laughter. And when Sergeant Major Rawlins came back after taking that phone call and confirmed that was exactly what was buzzing around HQ, he wanted to pound his head on the table.

"Actually, it serves him right, you know," Gena told Meghada quietly. "I know your mother says he's halfway daft in how he thinks to be interferring with you lot; I'm thinking more than halfway after this! By the way, you looked quite comfortable holding my two, as did your lad. Might think on it."

Meghada looked wistful, "you know Dragons don't usually."

"Well, Dragons don't usually Bond either, but you did. Nothing to say you can't do the rest as well. Just think on it, cousin; think you'd do quite well at the job. And if there's a new Dragon comes along, well, you'd be there for the teaching, wouldn't you?"

Meghada took one long look across the room, Goniff now with Trissta cupped in one arm while he laughed with Casino about the row Richards was most likely walking back in to. Yes, she'd think on it, long and hard she'd think on it, and a smile crept onto her face as the longing edged into her heart, edged in and took root. 

Of course, when she found out everyone at HQ had mistaken Ciena for her, and she was the subject of all the talk right along with Kevin Richards, she was less amused than one might have anticipated. The Sergeant Major had broken that news when he, rather reluctantly, told them about what he'd just heard from another non-com in the ranks of HQ via the telephone express, a subsidiary of the gossip chain and moving at only a slightly slower speed, the call coming in perhaps an hour after the Major's arrival at the Mansion.

"Dragging the bloody RIVER??! What in the name of the Sweet Mother could Ciena have said or done, OR that idiot of an Aide of yours, that could have started them down THAT road??! I'm the Dragon! Do they really think I'm such a dying swan as all that? I'm to leave my own babes in the hands of someone who's enough of an ass to deny them and me, and throw myself in the bloody river??! ME??! Hell, it wouldn't've been me ending up floating in the river, that's for damned sure!" the mixing of biological genera amusing more than one in the room.

In fact, it elicited a rather broad range of comments, including "well, only after you sung like a ruddy canary, you know, luv!"

"Never mind all that catting around."

"From the looks of those kids, maybe more like a rabbit!"

"And 'im trying to weasel out of it!"

"Though he sure was sly as a fox about the whole thing, wasn't he?"

"Well, anyone with any sense would know it's all a cock-and-bull story anyway."

Rawlins, now starting to see the funny side of all this, but still standing far enough away for safety just in case anyone else didn't, related the whole bushel of gossip that was flooding HQ.

Kevin Richards knew several things, as he somewhat resignedly elaborated to a still incredulous Craig Garrison while the team was performing a spirited, if slightly out of tune, version of 'Yes, Sir, That's My Baby'; that this was going to be hell to straighten out, there'd be some who never would believe the truth, that his reputation had to have taken a major hit, Ciena was going to get a chewing out like she'd never had before, and that Private Christman had better be gone by the time he got back to London or he'd see to it personally and possibly permanently.

Sergeant Major sympathized; he'd had trouble aplenty of his own, getting competent staff; some of the ones they were calling up now, well, they left a bit to be desired it seems, thinking back to that young private he'd been interviewing who didn't understand why they just didn't SHOOT the guys when they got up to mischief. "Save ever so much trouble, it would, sir!" He made a quick call up to London to be sure Private Christman was away and gone and not in a position to face Major Richards upon his return. 

Gena was getting the babies tucked up in their carriers for a nap after all the socialization, listening to the team once again teasing Kevin Richards for his gullibility, watching his embarrassment, when she decided she felt just a little sorry for him. After all, he'd meant well, well, sort of. So she took the opportunity to remark that the babies' father, her Bond Mate Veron would be most amused at the story.

"He remembers you all quite well, of course. Well, you four anyway; described you all to a T, even to the missing trousers, Goniff! The Major wasn't here, nor Sergeant Major or the Lieutenant of course; well, if they had been, then Veron wouldn't have been, now, no need to have been. Just that ever so unpleasant man, Sergeant Major Taylor, wasn't that his name?"

Gena either didn't see or chose to ignore the 'oh shit!' look in her cousin's eyes, fondly tucking the blanket closer around Trissa. Gena had just a tiny streak of mischief in her, not nearly so much as Meghada's youngest sister Coura, but enough to cause the occasional hilarious moment.

Actor was the one to take the bait, surprisingly. He was frowning slightly, trying to remember but was drawing a blank. "I do not recall a 'Veron', I'm sorry to say, and that incident was rather memorable. In what way was he involved?"

Gena took a wide-eyed innocent look at the other three team members, to see the same incomprehension. She turned back to tuck Veranes in tighter, keep her twinkling eyes downward as she continued, "oh, I really should say, 'Amelia Halloran'; I do think she's one of his best characterizations, although that one he does of Lord Stanefield is very, very good too. He has several others, of course. And he does a very creditable voice for Winston Churchill and Mr. Roosevelt, though that seems to be a rather common thing these days. But 'Amelia', well, he has her down pat! And I have to admit I rather envy her her figure; built like a brick library, I've heard some say, really 'stacked'. I tried on the wig once, along with that 'bosom', almost toppled over; of course, he's tall enough to carry it off; it would swamp me."

She turned back with a pleasant, slightly vague smile, taking in the stunned looks on those four faces, the dawning amusement on the others, and the deep gulp the safecracker gave, remembering that tall, impressive blond bombshell and those occasional tiptoeings she made through his fantasies. And the result was what she'd intended, the guys just a little more humble, Kevin not feeling quite so much the fool. Or at least, now knowing he had company in the role.


End file.
